I look particularly disheveled for some reason. It's either the Starbucks, or the fact that I just put on a cardigan over a singlet and ran out of the room. Anyway...
I have issues. I don't write as much as I should be.
Well, that depends on what one means by "writing" again since I technically spend around half an hour daily updating my blog which is, really, a lot of writing in my opinion. So long I type around 500 words regularly. But it's not enough, I figure... And it's not like I'm being meticulous about grammar and syntax here as I normally would for an academic paper or some fiction...
Meh... just another excuse for carpal tunnel. Moving on,
Anthony Doerr. The Shell Collector. Brilliant. Love the pace. Short sentences and vivid descriptions. "But that sounds just like any other bestseller!" True, but he starts off his collection with a piece that makes anyone envious of a blind man for being blind. Odd, yet riveting. The shell collector wades through life in darkness, touching and feeling every object that washes ashore on the beaches of Luma, knowing each individual Latinate names for the various cone shells crawling about. I've never felt more compelled to look up every single species of cone shell on Wikipedia. It's fascinating. I have to constantly remind myself the protagonist is blind because of the way Doerr immerses his pages with sensual pleasures.
And he was 29 when the book was published so... it does make me wanna kick myself in the ass.
...
This is going to be a real random jab at language here but should "kick in the ass" be taken literally? I mean, no one can exactly kick in the ass, right? Unless, it's the "kicking" sensation one feels when the anal sphincter... Alright, enough.
But do give the book a go. It's currently my favorite collection for my short story course. Well apparently, almost everyone else's as well. A'ite, time for zee shower~
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